The flame is miniscule and intermittent, I don't do anything to stop its growth; the warmth grants me comfort.
Each night I stoke the flames, allowing it to continue burning my skin ever so slightly.
The intensity of the flame on my skin grants me temporary relief of sorts,
bewildered by the temptation and comfort it presents me.
I'll feed the flame, just once.

The flame has grown to a substantial size, the burn and pleasure it grants along with it.
I must feed it, it is my only friend.
I feel reliant on it, for it is my only method of escapism and trumps all else.
Oh the burn, the pain is so much worse; my flesh seared and mind charred.
I must stop before there is no stopping for i will turn to ash soon enough.
I have to try, for me.

my mind feels scrambled as i wade away from the flame.
i know my pain could subside if i just give in but i must not, should not but the pain... it wallows within me, my skin aches and teeth chatter.
please make it stop, i cannot handle this without the embers.

once more,
just please relieve me flame,
i need you... right?
please?

The shadowy figure looms over me, incoherent rambles of love and apologies coming from his figure as the blood drips from my nose. Father promises not to do it again, but he lies, just as he does to mother. My will falters as I forgive him again because he's my father, right? Deep down, he must care; he has to. Please don't hurt me, Father? I'm sorry for making you angry. I will finish my food next time, I swear. My mother is a figment of what she used to be, for she does not hold me like she used to; the light in her eyes has left. Why do I feel sorry for him after he 'punishes' me? He does love me, of course; it was my fault anyway. Maybe my next birthday will be better; perhaps he will stop hurting me and my mother.
Maybe.
I love you, Father, forgive me.

Recently, I've been feeling sad and alone.
I think it's mainly because I'm scared.
I'm scared that my past will come haunting me again.
I feel like I'm exaggerating but.. I'm not.
It felt like emotional abuse, mental abuse coming from someone you thought loved you, or.. At least they'd say they do, and then emotionally block you out, ignore you, blame you, make you feel like you're the problem, like everything is your fault..
And then you feel like you're going crazy.
I was mentally NOT okay..
I needed someone, but felt like I had no one
I have supportive friends, but it was still hard, or eventually, they'll get tired of you, too.
Eight months of feeling drained, tired, burnt out, feeling used, doing badly in school, my hair falling out, sleeping all day, my body constantly being in fight or flight mode, body aching, and going through changes, constant panic attacks.
I felt unheard, not loved. I was silenced, walking on eggshells, crying every day.
I lost myself to someone childish.
And well.. Because I love deeply, because I care and was hopeful. I'd say it's okay, he will change.
But now I'd never be able to get that old lover girl version of me back.
I've changed into someone who feels like they are too much and never enough.
I'm just scared to go back to all of that, to fall into that same emotional/mental state I used to be in. It was awful.
To feel like things I'd ask for was too much, that I was too much But I wasn't..
I was only asking for love, comfort, words of affirmation, to spend quality time together, to talk to one another, to have deep meaningful conversations, to connect on a deeper level of intimacy..But I mostly mean emotional connection to be able to understand each other to KNOW each other, but I guess that was too much right? Did it made you feel uncomfortable?
But you were okay with being intimate right? Touching my body, doing ****** things, even when I felt uncomfortable
But it wasn't okay to talk about our feelings right?, how we felt and the things that made us uncomfortable.
But it's okay, I'm just an idiot.
Sometimes I don't understand why I took you back when it was still hurting.
I still cry at night, I cry to your voice, I cry at the sight of you because it hurts, because I'm scared to be vulnerable with you again, I'm scared of getting used, I'm scared that you'll get drunk again and yell and speak to me harshly the way my drunken dad would to my mom.
It really hurts.
I just wanted to feel safe with someone who isn't scared of my emotions, someone who isn't scared to take care of me. I wanted to feel loved and feel known.
I wanted you to be the only person I needed in my life besides family.
But instead you made me feel so alone
I'm different now, I don't get as attached to you anymore, I don't ask for quality time anymore, I don't care if you'll be able to come see me or not. I don't care if you get mad at something I do.
I don't care if you ignore me, I don't care if you kiss me, hug me , give me flowers, because it's too late.
How do I know your being real? Genuine? honest? I don't..
Not After Everything.

Anxiety is not my enemy
She is my safety
Changed from years of turmoil.
She should have been held
And addressed properly
But she was pushed down and suppressed instead.
Anxiety is not my enemy
She is love trying to offer the protection that she never received
She is my safety betrayed.

Sorrow is not my enemy
He is my hurt
Turned inwards
Shoved aside and ignored
When his hands should have been taken
While he was told that it's okay to feel grief.
Sorrow is not my enemy.
He is my heart trying to recover from being trampled on.

Depression is not my enemy
He is my Self-awareness
Putting up decorations
That are loud and bright
Because no one noticed them last time.
He should have been seen
And hugged
And told that it's okay to not be okay.
Depression is not my enemy.
He is my soul attempting to remind me that my sorrow is real.

Anger is not my enemy
He is all of my nerves
Cut and bruised from hands and blades
That I never saw coming.
He should have been washed and bandaged
But instead, salt was poured into the wound.
Anger is not my enemy.
He is my throbbing skin trying to tell me that I've still got wounds that haven't scabbed over quite yet.

Fear is not my enemy.
He is my mind
Folded over on itself
Refusing to trust
Huddled in a corner
Because he could not trust the ones he should have been able to.
He should have been helped,
But he was ignored instead.
Fear is not my enemy.
He is the caution that I felt that everyone ignored–including me.

Trauma is not my enemy
She is a little girl
Screaming for help
Because no one listened to her before.
She should have been heard
And dealt with gently
Trauma is not my enemy.
She is the part of me that never truly healed. She is the part that no one ever listened to.
But I'm listening now.

And I am not my enemy.

You brought me into this world
To punish me for your mistake.
You could have terminated the misery;
Maybe you would have, in retrospect,
If only you reflected on anything
Other than the pain of your self-possession.
Maybe you’d see that I was born to lose,
Find myself worthy of every bruise.

You stripped me of my autonomy.
I’ll never find a way to make you sorry.
You’re a stranger to apology,
Too infatuated with commiseration
To hear me choke on the guilt,
Gasp through tempered oxygen,
A vessel knotted in tension.

A clenched fish of crushed hope.
A tightrope of flashbacks and fear.

Every slammed door
Echoes the silence you dragged me under.
Because it was your right
To raise me through spite,
To dim every light I find.
To push me towards the familiarity
Of cruelty in the vein of your malicious misery.

I never asked for this:
To be forced to kneel on eggshells
To someone so beneath me.
I’m proud to be antithetical to you,
A fragile ego void of empathy
And your bitterness you taught to never cease.

Coming home from war
I feel the weight above my chin.
I need some water.
Though I’ve forgotten how to swim.
I often wonder,
What the future has in store.
When does this horror end?
When will the healing begin?

No ones calling.
Now I’m buried alive.
And Every second is agony.
My body’s aching,
And I’m another day older…
I should just end it once and for all.

Smile like nothing’s wrong.
Hide behind those loving eyes.
I don’t know how much more obvious,
I can make this cry for help known.
But there’s no lighthouse to guide me home.

No one seems to notice,
Or seems to care at all..
Time goes by and the pain escalates
Then I’m another day older…

I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong
To keep going on.

Summer nights, I hate.

Survivor, new beginnings.

Summer nights, I love.

Run from the hurt
Run from the love
Because which is which
You do not know.

Flinch from the fist
Or an open helping hand
After all,
Caution is better than carelessness.

**** them with kindness
Even if it kills you instead
Carry the burden of your own existence,
Life’s painful either way.

hard scrabble taught
small as the properly poor,
it is a shame how she looked
like a dead moth spread winged,
taped to a piece of wax paper,
taken to school and pinned down.

festered in a blue black
skin, those few visible examples
of the love thrown at her unwashed.
nobody, but nobody would plan
to spill so much in so small a space,
but she did, with a fog in her eye
as she did it, and as hard as i wanted to try,
i couldn’t make eye contact.

what came next was what
she remembered to pack, along with some
missing skin. i wished it were mine.
i’d gladly take it upon me, and she could
be scot free pretending to be
any number of wild things.

but she sat with me,
frozen backward looking,
explaining with awkward words
and punctured theme,
as i wrote fresh notes for god, like clean snow.

nothing prepared me for the sudden absence,
the dead moth freed of the unpinned wax paper.
as i cleaned the spill with long forms and reports
i was grateful i tried to look in her eyes.
tired in the moment to be there still,
one man choosing to pray.